


Sauciness can ketchup to you

by SympatriCuckoo



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Condiment-fucking, Other, ectodick, ketchup, ketchup is not a character, spit snowballing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SympatriCuckoo/pseuds/SympatriCuckoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sans is a firm believer in safe sex; he just loves to use condiments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sauciness can ketchup to you

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this post](http://good-times-new-roman.tumblr.com/post/144020524235/oh-but-while-im-making-tea-can-someone-explain-to).
> 
> Quick and dirty in the tumblr box. Can’t guarantee quality. Not edited.
> 
> I was inspired and I’m not sorry.
> 
> Sans/Ketchup; and some minor snowballing with spit…is that a thing? it’s a thing now.
> 
> Oh and for the record, I don’t even like ketchup XD

The best thing about magic, reflects Sans, is that it enables you to do anything.

 

He holds a bottle in one hand. It’s full of ketchup and the glass is a cool comforting weight in his hand, a nice counterpoint to the heat he feels in his body.

 

He unscrews the cap and sets it the side, then sticks his finger in, coating it with ketchup. It exits the mouth of the bottle with a slight pop, and he starts to move it down to his pelvis before changing his mind and bringing it to his mouth. He rolls the finger over his tongue, coating his taste buds with the condiment. His eyes flutter closed as he takes in his finger to the third knuckle, chasing the flavor.

 

He stops only when there’s not even a hint of ketchup on his finger. It’s all on his tongue, in his saliva, in his mouth and he swishes his spit around, unwilling to swallow and lose the taste.

 

He unzips and pulls himself out. 

 

He’s smaller than usual, small enough to fit into the bottle but still so hard. He can’t wait to be immersed and surrounded by ketchup, can’t wait to feel the suction as thrusts in and out, feel the give of the viscous emulsion around his cock.

 

He shivers as enters the bottle, the circle of glass stroking down until he’s seated all the way inside, the smooth coolness nestled at the base of his cock. 

 

It’s tight and as he pulls back he can feel the air pressure trying to suck him back in, and the ketchup surrounds him like cold damp silk. 

 

Sans want to pant open-mouthed, to moan and to curse. But the saliva still has its taste, is thick in his mouth like clear ketchup. And he’s greedy for it, doesn’t want to give any of it up, wants to drown in it.

 

He grits his teeth, presses a shaky hand against his mouth, all the better to keep everything in, all the sounds, all the spit.

 

Ketchup oozes out from the opening of the bottle, displaced by his cock and from the force of his thrusts. It pools on the floor underneath him and Sans curses the waste, wishes he could crawl underneath and lick the spill.

 

He comes embarrassingly fast, spit drooling from between his fingers, the bottle turning purple as he humps forward desperately with short, quick jabs of his hips.

 

He sinks to his knees, landing in the pooled ketchup, covered in a mess of red and blue.

 


End file.
